


you lit me up

by gudetama (elementary)



Series: say you won't let go [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Newt, Alpha Newt Scamander, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Implied though - Freeform, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of Infertility, Omega Original Percival Graves, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rut Fic, Top Newt Scamander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: In which Newt finds the courage to experience a rut with his mate





	you lit me up

**Author's Note:**

> i'm guilty of using the lyrics of such a sweet song to title my dirty, sexual fic. but hey we're finally here with actual explicit content! never going to get used to writing these. too many things you have to consider while not being repetitive omg
> 
> anyway, this will probably be the last update for the series for a long time if not ever so i'll mark it complete for now. thanks for all the support for this!
> 
> also pls feel free to let me know what tags i missed

For an alpha, Percival’s mate is unusually uncomfortable with his own natural instincts and biological processes. The use of alpha-suppressants had mainly but not solely been for the care of creatures, it seems, and despite their mating of some months Percival has yet to experience a certain event.

Not exactly surprising considering the man he has come to know and love.

Both of them have been off their respective medications for quite a while now, and though it isn’t expected for Percival to ever have a proper heat anymore due to earlier health complications, Newt is a healthy, young man. With Newt’s discomfort about the matter, however, he isn’t sure if it’s a thing to ask after.

They still don’t verbally communicate as much as they should because as mates, there’s a certain level of understanding they operate on based on their instincts. Even some weeks ago he discovered how his lack of dependence on the alpha had brewed in his mate an underlying insecurity which went unresolved for longer than Percival had preferred.

It’s challenging, to say the least, to learn anew how to maintain and grow a relationship.

In light of all this, there is less hesitation on his part in deciding to talk to Newt. That is, he watches Newt firm his mouth shut and turn red at the mention of his rut cycle, waits until all nervous glances and stilted words subside and gently coaxes him to speak.

“This cannot be healthy for you,” Percival adds, having no qualms about adding an extra dose of concern to his scent.

“I know,” Newt mumbles, glancing up briefly. “It isn’t about you, not that I don’t trust you. I hope you understand.”

“I would like to,” Percival says, raising a brow.

Newt squirms a little—a sign of discomfort—and it makes Percival want to hold him. So he takes his hand, feels his mate squeeze back tight, and he waits, knowing that being patient is the way.

A couple minutes later, “It’s just—I’m not exactly fond of losing control. I. It frightens me to a degree, all the aggression and instinct culminating in an act of violent mating, that something like that exists within me.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, and you wouldn’t allow it, I’m sure. But rationalizing only does so much.”

There’s no point in asking why Newt hasn’t said something all this time. He may have eventually, on his own. Perhaps he needed to be asked, to be forced to address it. Either way, the matter is now being dealt with.

“As long as you aren’t hurting yourself, I respect your decision,” Percival says, and kisses Newt’s fingers. “But I would like a healer’s opinion on this if only to make sure. We haven’t the best experience with suppressing our instincts, after all.”

Newt leans forward and buries his head into Percival’s neck, breathes deep. “It probably isn’t,” he admits. “I needed some time, is all.”

They make an appointment with Eleanor and after a general check-up for the both of them, she asks and discusses the details of Newt’s self-brewed cycle-suppressor. Percival doesn’t understand everything but seeing the impressed eyes with which Eleanor regards his alpha, he feels a measure of pride once again for Newt’s extensive knowledge of potions (even if it hadn’t been all gained in the safest of ways).

“It would be best to allow your cycles to run normally,” Eleanor advises. “Despite your concerns, having them within a stable relationship actually helps regulate your hormones and instincts so that they aren’t constantly battling your conscious thoughts in those moments.”

“How did I not think of that,” Newt says for the sixth time as they’re heading home. “It’s completely obvious!”

“You don’t know everything,” Percival says. Again.

“Yes, but I make observations like this for a living,” Newt exclaims.

Percival gives a small laugh. “You can be quite dense sometimes when it comes to yourself, dear alpha.”

When they arrive home, he asks if this is the last. “There’s nothing else?”

Newt, sheepish and apologetic, nods. “No more.”

Percival rewards him with a kiss and a nip to the jaw, making his alpha whine before he retaliates with a kiss of his own. Large hands cup Percival’s face and tilt his head back, and Percival drags his own up his mate’s back. Mouths open and press harder, tongues licking in for a taste and more. One kiss after another brings a different kind of heat to the surface and after breaking off first, Percival noses at Newt’s jaw to breathe in the subtle arousal.

“Let’s see if we can jumpstart your next cycle,” he suggests, kisses the delicate skin there.

Newt pulls back and gives him a strange look. “That isn’t how it works.”

“That isn’t the point,” Percival sighs, taking Newt’s hand. “Come on.”

Newt eventually does learn that the attempt to induce a rut was really a seduction of sorts and apart from their usual mating habits, nothing happens for a few weeks. They work and come home, read together and go out occasionally for dinner. His alpha puts on a charmed cloak every other week for going on a long walk and comes home with delicious pastries of unusual shapes, and Percival never asks from where he got them.

They wake tangled together in the mornings if neither work through the night and indulge in a little lounging before getting up.

Today, Percival wakes first as usual, arm stretched across Newt's back and thick curls tickling at this neck.

_Five more minutes_, he thinks right now, and after that, _five more minutes_, Newt will say then.

He caresses smooth skin and dense muscles, and waits until his mate is gently roused from sleep.

“Five more minutes,” Newt slurs into his throat.

Percival kisses his forehead. “I’ll go boil some water.”

Newt’s arms tighten around him, pulls him even closer. “Stay? Please.”

Not that Percival really has a choice, not when his mate puts his strength to use like this. It isn’t unusual for Newt to cling like this some days, but something in the tone of voice—pleading, rather than requesting—gives him second thought. There are times when a nightmare (occasionally about Percival) will cause Newt to seek comfort like this.

“Bad dream?” Percival asks.

Newt shakes his head and offers no other explanation.

“Newt—”

“I’m alright,” and Newt lifts his head finally, smiles.

Bumping his nose to Percival’s, he lifts himself up but doesn’t get very far before leaning in to scent deeply. In the end, Percival drags them both out of bed and washes up the best he can with a bothersome mass attached to his back. Normally he wouldn’t be tolerating this on a busy weekday morning but something seems to be amiss and he thinks it prudent to observe further.

Newt remains near all the way to work and then detaches himself like nothing happened, so Percival is the one who grabs him at the last second to say, “Inform me whenever if you aren’t well.”

From the way Newt smiles, bashful and appreciative, this may be unnecessary worry after all.

The thought lasts no more than a few hours, until O’Brien comes knocking at his door.

“Sir, I don’t mean to bother but Newt is—I think he needs you.”

That can mean anything, but usually it’s that the man stumbled into something he shouldn’t have.

Percival sighs. “What kind of trouble is it?”

“He didn’t say, exactly, but something must be irritating him, making him weirdly restless,” O’Brien shrugs. “Wondering if he’s hearing us at all.”

“I see,” Percival says, already standing as he recalls this morning.

After following the man out, it’s easy to smell the irritation mixed in Newt’s scent, unusually strong. He sees his mate hunched over his desk with Tina standing and watching from a good few feet away, and before she can say anything, Newt’s head snaps up and turns to him. Relief briefly fills his face, then a heavy frown crosses it when his eyes track O’Brien to the side.

“Thank you, O’Brien,” Percival dismisses on a hunch, and nods to Tina as well.

It’s then that Newt relaxes some, focusing on Percival once more, though he still holds himself rather stiff.

“You’re the last person I imagined who’d intimidate his co-workers like this,” Percival starts, perching himself on the edge of the desk.

Newt blinks, confused. “Did I?” He blinks again. “What are you doing here?”

“What is the matter, Newt?”

“I—I don’t know,” Newt mutters, lowering his gaze, and doesn’t seem to be aware how he finds purchase on the fabric of Percival’s slacks. “It doesn’t smell right. There’s too much—too much _alpha_ and they don’t. It’s just, not nice.”

Even as he speaks, Newt looks up every time someone passes them by and watches until they’re gone.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Percival asks.

“No, it’s not like—I don’t think?” Then as if realizing something, Newt’s eyes widen up at him. “Oh, I’m troubling you, aren’t I. I’ll be fine; there should be something to help in the workshop.”

Percival holds back a sigh and takes the hand holding onto his leg. “Come.”

Confused as he is, Newt listens without question—good man—and follows into Percival’s office where he’s settled onto the sofa. Percival tosses him his coat and instructs him to stay put, drink some water, and relax. Whether Newt understands what is happening, he can only guess, but nonetheless the alpha tucks himself under the coat and sits back comfortably. Being surrounded by Percival’s scent visibly helps and within the hour he’s asleep.

Conserving energy, Percival supposes.

Throughout the rest of the day, he organizes the work in order of priority and writes down necessary instructions. There isn't much to do, actually, since he does have quite the competent team. A short meeting with Fontaine takes care of the rest and with that, Percival signs off on his and Newt’s leave.

Save for a moment during which Newt woke and actually glared at one of the aurors giving a report, the day finishes without incident.

“It's time, Newt,” Percival calls gently.

“To go home?” Newt responds, a bit groggy from sleep.

“Among other things.” He brushes Newt’s hair back and Newt leans into the touch. “We should hurry.”

“It smells awful out there,” Newt complains, childish in a cute way.

“That’s why you’ll keep my coat and I will have yours. Let’s go.”

The strategy of being covered in each other's scents works in that Newt maintains relative calm even if he’s unable to help a hand straying to some part of Percival's body. Percival isn’t entirely unaffected, either; it’s merely that the scent calling to him seeks comfort and proximity more than anything, and nothing so strong that it disrupts his consciousness.

Yet.

There’s still some time until then, indicated by how Newt lets go long enough at least for them to change into comfortable clothes once they’re home. Percival then prepares what he can for the imminent storm, so to speak.

“I’m not particularly liking you out of sight today,” Newt thinks aloud, cutting vegetables as requested. “It’s strange.”

Percival pauses in his own task of mixing spices. “You do realize your cycle is starting.”

A long silence follows.

“Oh, that’s—I see,” and Newt steadily turns red. “I’m sorry.”

Percival snorts and goes back to finalizing ingredients. “What for? We’ve been expecting it.”

“Yes, well,” Newt drifts off, then, “I don’t understand how you knew. It didn't feel different? I’m always wanting to be near, so...”

“Because I’m me,” Percival says matter-of-factly, and he’s given a look somewhere between impressed and annoyed. He smiles. “I have you, no need to worry.”

As with any other time Percival expresses this sort of affection, his alpha seems a tad overwhelmed, and before he knows it, there’s a hand at his nape pulling him in for a kiss. Newt makes a pleased noise and wastes no time licking in to taste. The immediate sensation has Percival inhaling sharply and the whiff of pleased alpha he gets dazes him. Teeth drag along the flesh of his lip and there is hardly a chance to breathe between one kiss and the next.

_Merlin, not in the kitchen—_

Newt pulls away with a yelp and rubs the side where he was pinched, then looks up with hurt.

“Food first,” Percival says, a little breathless.

With a wave of his hand, the air clears some of mingled scents (but not the heat from his own face, unfortunately) and he manages to ignore Newt’s pleading gaze for the rest of their cooking. Within half an hour, a large pot of stew simmers steadily which should be sufficient for the next few days, and they each have a bowl of it with some leftover rolls from this morning.

Although Newt constantly seeks contact—feet tangling under the table, shoulders brushing as they clean up—his scent remains steady throughout, even when he’s indulged after asking that Percival be on his lap on the sofa. Newt’s arms are firm around his waist and the man is almost too warm where they’re pressed together.

“I’d prefer to be in bed when this starts,” Percival says eventually even as he’s dozing a little.

“Yes, but I don’t need—this is good right now,” Newt mutters, and it tickles Percival’s throat. “I like this very much.”

True to his word, they’re in bed an hour later to actually sleep. Although Percival wonders if they should be clothed at all right now, without any reference to estimate how a rut progresses he decides there's nothing more to be done on his part. Newt takes a few minutes twisting around to find a position that isn't smothering them both, and miraculously concedes to being held from behind.

“Good night,” Newt sighs, hand squeezing over Percival's.

It's still dark when Percival wakes to teeth sinking into his neck.

“Fuck,” he groans, half from sleep and half in pain.

_Mercy Lewis, couldn't even get through one night._

Their positions switched sometime during the night, Newt now trying to envelope him. Hands are already under his shirt and pressing him against the long line of Newt’s body, and it's hot despite the covers being lost somewhere. Coupled with pheromones attracting to mate, they make a concoction of allure which invokes heat low in his belly.

“Percy,” Newt gasps. “I’m, it’s too hot—” and then muffles a whine.

Percival reaches for him the best he can, twisting to kiss the side of Newt's head. “Take what you need; it's fine.”

“I need, I need you.”

_Obviously_, Percival thinks dryly, even as a tongue on the bite draws shivers, even as the inside of his thighs start growing wet.

Something hard and hot pushes against his bottom, and somehow he has the mind to think that they should’ve removed their clothes earlier after all. Newt must scent his slick because a hand moves down his front, brushing against his cock then continuing further behind.

Long fingers enter easily and Percival lets out a noise.

With a pleased rumble, Newt thrusts at his back in tandem with the fingers, as if it’s his cock inside—which, it should be; the prep isn’t necessary with how wet he has already become. But this is about Newt having what he wants, and so he lets it go on like that until Newt’s hand is soaked and he’s on the verge of coming. Still, Percival has to intervene and manoeuvre around hormonal, lust-driven alpha to get their pants off himself—a bit difficult when he’s more than a little dazed from the sexually-saturated scent surrounding them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Percival huffs because the alpha keeps grabbing him every time he moves a little.

And suddenly he’s on his back, legs pushed up, Newt sliding in every inch of his cock all at once. Percival gasps and swears from the stretch of being filled completely and more. Even so, he feels the natural relief in being claimed, and lifts his hips to meet it.

“Percy,” Newt moans, shakes.

Percival wishes he could see him, can only touch as he wraps his arms around the man. “Go ahead, fuck me, alpha.”

And Newt lets loose a broken sound before starting to move in earnest. Every drag of that large cock against his insides is a familiar pleasure yet something about the purely instinctive, raw fucking feels different; it’s one powerful thrust after another and it stirs up Percival’s very core. He’s crying out, unable to contain the sensations wrought upon his body, but that’s soon stifled by a hard kiss. Newt pushes relentlessly with teeth and tongue and Percival can hardly keep up. Even when he tears away to breathe, all that fills his nose are the potent pheromones of his mate.

Percival very nearly drowns in the heat of an obsessive desire.

At some point, he’s partially in Newt’s lap and pulled into a grind which rubs that one spot within. Newt leans over as Percival jerks into it, shoves impossibly deeper, and bites his throat. It isn’t much longer after that for his body to seize in orgasm. With how he tenses up, the cock still grinding inside almost feels too big in that moment of bliss where everything else washes out.

Before the last of it fades, Newt starts fucking again. A pathetic noise escapes Percival from the onslaught while he's still sensitive, and he bites his lip in a futile attempt to stop anymore of them.

“Mine,” he thinks he hears, but that could also be the sound of a mark being sucked into his neck.

The grip on his waist will bruise in the morning. He’ll be dirty and more than sore and it’ll start all over again. And yet he enjoys this now for what it is—his husband, this loving alpha needing him down to the basest of his desires.

There’s a hot pressure at his rim, larger than what’s already inside and Newt pushes, pushes until it gives. The knot still grows then to firmly lock them together and Percival comes a second time.

“Oh my god...” is all he can say afterwards.

Newt's low hum is one of absolute satisfaction and the alpha continues to roll his hips. He also finds Percival's mouth and licks in, nips, takes every last breath Percival has. Hands roam, up his chest to pinch at the nipples, to caress his neck and the mark there.

“Mine,” Newt rumbles happily and scents him wherever he can reach.

In this way, Newt doesn’t let him sleep while they’re tied and as soon as the knot shrinks, he pulls out and thrusts right back in with a cock that hasn’t softened one bit.

_Merlin, have mercy_, is Percival's last coherent thought for some time.

* * *

When Newt wakes, it’s to the smell of a stale mating and fading warmth. The spot next to him is empty and immediately his instincts demand that he find his mate. It’s all he can do to wrap the covers around himself in an attempt at being partially decent and stumble out of bed, into the corridors.

Any conscious memories of last night are hazy at best, but his body seems to recall fine the sexual gratification of repeatedly taking his omega.

“Again...” Newt sighs to himself as it brings heat prickling along his skin.

Percival isn’t far, and Newt stops at the entrance of the kitchen to admire the sight of his mate. Disheveled as he is, the man is beautiful wrapped in nothing but a black robe—opened, Newt notices shyly, displaying the marks left by him—and leaning relaxed against the counter.

“What is that?” Newt asks when he sees the potion in hand.

Unexpectedly, he smells something like embarrassment.

“It’s a supplement,” Percival answers.

Newt waits since they both know it lacks proper explanation.

“For energy,” the man eventually says, and looks disgruntled.

“For—oh,” and Newt gets it, somehow feels embarrassed as well but also guilty. “From Eleanor.”

The healer and his husband had talked more after the appointment, and Percival had come out with a frown and paper bag, didn’t say anything at the time.

“How are you feeling?” Percival asks.

“I should be asking you that.”

Percival waves the potion with a raised brow before taking another sip. “I’m fine, really; we should eat, however.”

“Right, of course,” Newt nods, then looks away. “But could I first—I need to, um...”

The heat is much stronger now, but he doesn’t intend to subject Percival to it so soon. He can just—

“Did you wash?” Percival asks, somehow standing right before him.

“No, um,” and Newt takes a step back. “I needed to see you, so.” His mate follows and he stumbles back further. “Percy, what are you—”

With a wave of Percival’s hand, he’s cleaned up and then tripping onto the couch. The cover slides off and Newt doesn’t have time to be self-conscious of the sudden exposure because the man is there on the floor between his legs, a hand gripping his erection.

“Merlin, you needn’t—” Newt chokes out, then whines when a hot tongue licks from the base up. “Why—why did you bother cleaning?”

“Basic hygiene, darling,” Percival replies lightly and that’s the last thing he says.

The tip of his cock slowly enters Percival’s mouth and Newt trembles from holding himself still. It’s difficult as is, being inside a hot, wet place that’s similar yet different to... but the sight of his mate with pink lips stretched around the girth makes it even worse. This is—it isn’t done often because they both prefer the full act of mating, and so it simultaneously unnerves and excites him. Percival’s hair, though not as long as it used to be, tickles his thighs with each bob of the head and every sound as his mate sucks and licks is positively obscene. Dear god, how is his tongue so—

The fever keeps rising and he can’t hold back anymore.

“Please,” Newt whimpers.

Before he knows it, he has his own hands tangled in soft strands, hips lifting to press deeper, as much as he’s allowed. It won’t fit, not all of it, but what’s left is covered by deft fingers. His knot grows as the base is massaged and although it isn’t the same grip, he ejaculates all the same, thinking _mate, omega, mine_.

Through blurry eyes, he sees a flushed face stained with spots of white and damp eyes watching him, and he brings up Percival to meet him. He needs to taste his mark on the omega and as soon as he does, the heady mix makes him moan in satisfaction. Then he puts a hand to Percival’s throat, trying to feel how he swallows it. He wants it to take seed within so that—

Newt stops, the thought instantly sobering, and draws back slightly. They had talked about this, too, whether his instincts would need a confirmation of conception. He had worried so, because he never wants to hurt Percival in such a way. Though Eleanor had assured the rut would run its course regardless, Newt remained cautious. Mercy Lewis, he hopes he never said anything aloud.

“What is it?” Percival asks in a hoarse voice, and Newt shakes his head in response.

Of course, ever the astute man, Percival pushes up with a small groan and sits himself on Newt. The way he casually wipes his face of fluid is strangely sensual, quickening Newt’s heartbeat.

“Not secretly assessing my skills, are you,” his husband says.

Newt feels himself blush. “Never.”

Percival kisses him lightly, once, twice, the residual flavour leaving him wanting more. His body is a bit too honest about it and he’s unable to look at his husband as it reacts once again. But then his gaze is level with a soft chest and he latches onto a nipple. The noise from Percival is a lovely thing and Newt pulls him in closer, sucks harder. His mate’s scent starts to change to one of sensual pleasure and the alpha in him is proud to be the cause.

Newt knows he can’t wait much longer. He brings his hands down to slide over the curve of a lush bottom and spreads them to reach the centre. The soft flesh feels a bit swollen, and he thinks that he should lick it better. He rubs it gently, coaxes it to relax and drip.

Percival curses and twitches against his hand.

_Mate, soon, hurry_. It drives him a little more mad and in the next moment he’s pushing his mate onto his stomach on the sofa. Muscles shift under smooth skin as Newt drags a hand down the spine, murmuring how beautiful his mate is. He thinks he hears something about eating after, and vaguely agrees. It’s right here in front of him, after all, slick and open and beckoning.

“Wait, Newt, that’s not—”

All Newt can hear are pleas and shouts, and he tastes until he’s fulfilled.

Percival’s hole is still convulsing from pleasure when his cock slides into that tight warmth, and he pumps in steadily with low groans. It’s indescribable every time he’s able to do this, and wishes he could simply stay inside. He wonders if his mate will let him.

Newt eyes the blushing skin below him and lowers himself to bite at it which makes Percival’s breath hitch. He really can’t get enough, and the idea of Percival being covered in his marks appeals greatly.

_Inside, too,_ he thinks, spilling his seed after his knot is in place.

Everywhere, so that anywhere people look, they’ll see Percival is his.

* * *

The rest of the days pass like a dream—a very long, exhausting, sexual dream. Wherever Percival goes in between the intense bouts of rut, Newt comes to find him and mates him right there. The alpha has little awareness during those times, purely driven by instincts. Although Percival does his best to limit it to certain areas, they even end up on the kitchen floor at one point which very nearly finishes him.

(Newt still apologizes for that.)

The potions did help, as reluctant as he was to use them, and with them he survives Newt’s first rut. And Merlin’s beard, he will need even more of them for the next one, many of them until these cycles mellow out. But they’ll be fine, he knows.

This morning, the air finally cleared of mating pheromones, Newt sleeps on peacefully for once and it’s a little difficult to reconcile this sweet face with the one that was dire to possess up until mere hours ago. Feeling a bit surreal still, Percival buries his face into Newt’s shoulder and inhales deeply; it’s familiar and refreshing.

“No more,” Newt mumbles. “No more.”

Percival quietly laughs.


End file.
